A Young Hero by Edward S Ellis

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Title: A Young Hero
Fighting to Win

Author: Edward Ellis

Release Date: July 4, 2019 [EBook #59853]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

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"The lion sprang through the air among the terrified group."—(See page 71.)

A YOUNG HERO;

OR,

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FIGHTING TO WIN.

BY EDWARD S. ELLIS,

Author of

"Adrift in the Wilds," etc., etc.

ILLUSTRATED.

NEW YORK:

A. L. BURT, PUBLISHER.

Copyright 1888, by A. L. Burt.

CONTENTS

PAGE

CHAPTER I.
THE PEACEMAKER.
5

CHAPTER II.
THE CALL TO SCHOOL.
9

CHAPTER III.
STARTLING NEWS.
17

CHAPTER IV.
ON GUARD.
32

CHAPTER V.
BRAVE WORK.
41

CHAPTER VI.
ON THE OUTSIDE.
56

CHAPTER VII.
"THE LION IS LOOSE!"
64

CHAPTER VIII.
A DAY OF EXCITEMENT IN TOTTENVILLE.
72

CHAPTER IX.
SEVERAL MISHAPS.
88

CHAPTER X.
A BRAVE ACT.
97

CHAPTER XI.
A REWARD WELL EARNED.
104

CHAPTER XII.
A BUSINESS TRANSACTION.
119

CHAPTER XIII.
THE EAVESDROPPER.
133

CHAPTER XIV.
FRED'S BEST FRIEND.
146

CHAPTER XV.
THE MEETING IN THE WOOD.
167

CHAPTER XVI.
BUD'S MISHAPS.
175

CHAPTER XVII.
TWO UNEXPECTED VISITORS.
182

CHAPTER XVIII.
EUREKA!
196

CHAPTER XIX.
A SLIGHT MISTAKE.
204

CHAPTER XX.
ALL IN GOOD TIME.
212

CHAPTER XXI.
HOW IT WAS DONE.
219

CHAPTER XXII.
AN ATTEMPTED RESCUE.
226

CHAPTER XXIII.
THE SILVERWARE RETURNED.
241

THE WALNUT ROD.
BY R. F. COLWELL.
251

HOW THE HATCHET WAS BURIED. BY OCTAVIA CARROLL.
260

HANSCHEN AND THE HARES.
FROM THE GERMAN, BY ELLEN T. SULLIVAN. 275

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A YOUNG HERO.

CHAPTER I.

THE PEACEMAKER.

"A fight! A fight! Form a ring!" A dozen or more excited boys shouted these words, and, rushing forward, hastily
formed a ring around two playmates who stood in the middle of the road, their hats off, eyes glaring, fists clenched,
while they panted with anger, and were on the point of flying at one another with the fury of young wildcats.

They had been striking, kicking and biting a minute before over some trifling dispute, and they had now stopped to take
breath and gather strength before attacking each other again with a fierceness which had become all the greater from the
brief rest.

"Give it to him, Sam! Black his eyes for him! Hit him under the ear! Bloody his nose!"

Thus shouted the partisans of Sammy McClay, who had thrown down his school books, and pitched into his opponent,
as though he meant to leave nothing of him.

The friends of Joe Hunt were just as loud and urgent.

"Sail in, Joe! You can whip him before he knows it! Kick him! Don't be a coward! You've got him!"

A party of boys and girls were on their way home from the Tottenville public school, laughing, romping and frolicking
with each other, when, all at once, like a couple of bantam chickens, these two youngsters began fighting.

The girls looked on in a horrified way, whispering to each other, and declaring that they meant to tell Mr. McCurtis, the
teacher, including also the respective mothers of the young pugilists.

The other boys, as is nearly always the case, did their utmost to urge on the fight, and, closing about Sam and Joe,
taunted them in loud voices, and appealed to them to resume hostilities at once.

The fighters seemed to be equally matched, and, as they panted and glared, each waited for the other to renew the
struggle by striking the first blow.

"You just hit me if you dare! that's all I want!" exclaimed Sammy McClay, shaking his head so vigorously that he almost
bumped his nose against that of Joe Hunt, who was just as ferocious, as he called back:

"You touch me, Sam McClay, just touch me! I dare you! double, double dare you."

Matters were fast coming to the exploding point, but not fast enough to suit the audience. Jimmy Emery picked up a
chip, and running forward, balanced it in a delicate position on the shoulder of Sam McClay, and, addressing his
opponent said: "Knock that off, Joe!"

"Yes, knock it off!" shouted Sam, "I dare you to knock it off!"

"Who's afraid?" demanded Joe, looking at the chip, with an expression which showed he meant to flip it to the ground.

"Well, you just try it—that's all!"

Joe was in the very act of upsetting the bit of wood, when a boy about their own age, with a flapping straw hat, and
with his trousers rolled far above his knees, ran in between the two, and used his arms with so much vigor that the
contestants were thrown quite a distance apart.

"What's the matter with you fellows?" demanded this boy, glancing from one to the other. "What do you want to make
fools of yourselves for?"

"He run against me," said Sammy McClay, "and knocked me over Jim Emery."

"Well, what of it?" asked the peacemaker. "Will it make you feel any better to get your head cracked? What's the
matter of you, Joe Hunt?" he added, turning his glance without changing his position, toward the other pugilist.

"What did he punch me for, when I stubbed my toe and run agin him?" and Joe showed a disposition just then to move
around his questioner, so as to get at the offender.

The other boys did not like this interference with their enjoyment, and called on the peacemaker to let them have it out;
but he stood his ground, and shaking his right fist at Sammy McClay, and his left at Joe Hunt, he told them they must let
each other alone, or he would whip them both.

This created some laughter, for the lad was no older than they, and hardly as tall as either; but there is a great deal in the

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manner of a man or boy. If his flashing eye, his stern voice, and look of determination show that he means what he says,
or is in dead earnest, his opponent generally yields.

At the critical juncture, the girls added their voices in favor of peace, and their champion, stooping down, picked up the
hats from the ground, and jammed them upon their owners' heads with a force that nearly threw them off their feet.

"That's enough! now come on!"

Sam and Joe walked along, rather sullenly at first. They glowered on each other, shook their heads, muttered and
seemed on the point of renewing the contest more than once; but the passions of childhood are brief, and the storm
soon blew over. Before the boys and girls had reached the cross-roads, Sam McClay and Joe Hunt were playing with
each other like the best of friends, as indeed they were.

The name of the lad who had stopped the fight was Fred Sheldon, and he is the hero of this story.

CHAPTER II.

THE CALL TO SCHOOL.

Fred Sheldon, as I have said, is the hero of this story.

He was twelve years of age, the picture of rosy health, good nature, bounding spirits and mental strength. He was bright
and well advanced in his studies, and as is generally the case with such vigorous youngsters he was fond of fun, which
too often, perhaps, passed the line of propriety and became mischief.

On the Monday morning after the fight, which Fred Sheldon interrupted, some ten or twelve boys stopped on their way
to the Tottenville Public School to admire in open-mouthed wonder, the gorgeous pictures pasted on a huge framework
of boards, put up for the sole purpose of making such a display.

These flaming posters were devoted to setting forth the unparalleled attractions of Bandman's great menagerie and
circus, which was announced to appear in the well-known "Hart's Half-Acre," near the village of Tottenville.

These scenes, in which elephants, tigers, leopards, camels, sacred cows, and indeed an almost endless array of animals
were shown on a scale that indicated they were as high as a meeting-house, in which the serpents, it unwound from the
trees where they were crushing men and beasts to death, would have stretched across "Hart's Half-Acre" (which really
contained several acres), those frightful encounters, in which a man, single-handed, was seen to be spreading death and
destruction with a clubbed gun among the fierce denizens of the forest; all these had been displayed on the side of barns
and covered bridges, at the cross-roads, and indeed in every possible available space for the past three weeks; and, as
the date of the great show was the one succeeding that of which we are speaking, it can be understood that the little
village of Tottenville and the surrounding country were in a state of excitement such as had not been known since the
advent of the preceding circus.

Regularly every day the school children had stopped in front of the huge bill-board and studied and admired and talked
over the great show, while those who expected to go in the afternoon or evening looked down in pity on their less
fortunate playmates.

The interest seemed to intensify as the day approached, and, now that it was so close at hand, the little group found it
hard to tear themselves away from the fascinating scenes before them.

Down in one corner of the board was the picture of a hyena desecrating a cemetery, as it is well known those animals
are fond of doing. This bad creature, naturally enough, became very distasteful to the boys, who showed their ill-will in
many ways.

Several almost ruined their new shoes by kicking him, while others had pelted him with stones, and still others, in face of
the warning printed in big letters, had haggled him dreadfully with their jack-knives.

It was a warm summer morning and most of the boys not only were bare-footed, but had their trousers rolled above
their knees, and, generally, were without coat or vest.

"To-morrow afternoon the show will be here," said Sammy McClay, smacking his lips and shaking his head as though
he tasted a luscious morsel, "and I'm going."

"How are you going," asked Joe Hunt, sarcastically, "when your father said he wouldn't give you the money?"

"Never you mind," was the answer, with another significant shake of the head. "I'm goin'—that's all."

"Goin' to try and crawl under the tent. I know. But you can't do it. You'll get a whack from the whip of the man that's
watching that you'll feel for six weeks. Don't I know—'cause, didn't I try it?"

"I wouldn't be such a dunce as you; you got half way under the tent and then stuck fast, so you couldn't go backward or

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forward, and you begun to yell so you like to broke up the performance, and when the man come along why he had the
best chance in the world to cowhide you, and he did it. I think I know a little better than that."

At this moment, Mr. Abijah McCurtis, the school teacher in the little stone school-house a hundred yards away,
solemnly lifted his spectacles from his nose to his forehead, and grasping the handle of his large cracked bell walked to
the door and swayed it vigorously for a minute or so.

This was the regular summons for the boys and girls to enter school, and he had sent forth the unmusical clangor,
summer and winter, for a full two-score years.

Having called the pupils together, the pedagogue sat down, drew his spectacles back astride of his nose, and resumed
setting copies in the books which had been laid on his desk the day before.

In a minute or so the boys and girls came straggling in, but the experienced eye of the teacher saw that several were
missing.

Looking through the open door he discovered where the four delinquent urchins were; they were still standing in front of
the great showy placards, studying the enchanting pictures, as they had done so many times before.

They were all talking earnestly, Sammy McClay, Joe Hunt, Jimmy Emery and Fred Sheldon, and they had failed for the
first time in their lives to hear the cracked bell.

Most teachers, we are bound to believe, would have called the boys a second time or sent another lad to notify them,
but the present chance was one of those which, unfortunately, the old-time pedagogue was glad to have, and Mr.
McCurtis seized it with pleasure.

Rising from his seat, he picked up from where it lay across his desk a long, thin switch, and started toward the four
barefooted lads, who were admiring the circus pictures.

Nothing could have been more inviting, for, not only were they barefooted, but each had his trousers rolled to the knee,
and Fred Sheldon had drawn and squeezed his so far that they could go no further. His plump, clean legs offered the
most inviting temptation to the teacher, who was one of those sour old pedagogues, of the long ago, who delighted in
seeing children tortured under the guise of so-called discipline.

"I don't believe in wearing trousers in warm weather," said Fred, when anybody looked wonderingly to see whether he
really had such useful garments on, "and that's why I roll mine so high up. Don't you see I'm ready to run into the water,
and——"

"How about going through the bushes and briars?" asked Joe Hunt.

"I don't go through 'em," was the crushing answer. "I feel so supple and limber that I just jump right over the top. I tell
you, boys, that you ought to see me jump——"

Fred's wish was gratified, for at that moment he gave such an exhibition of jumping as none of his companions had ever
seen before. With a shout he sprang high in air, kicking out his bare legs in a frantic way, and ran with might and main
for the school-house.

The other three lads did pretty much the same, for the appearance of the teacher among them was made known by the
whizzing hiss of his long, slender switch, which first landed on Fred's legs, and was then quickly transferred to the lower
limbs of the other boys, the little company immediately heading for the school house, with Fred Sheldon at the front.

Each one shouted, and made a high and frantic leap every few steps, believing that the teacher was close behind him
with upraised stick, and looking for the chance to bring it down with effect.

"I'll teach you not to stand gaping at those pictures," shouted Mr. McCurtis, striding wrathfully after them.

A man three-score years old cannot be expected to be as active as a boy with one-fifth as many years; but the teacher
had the advantage of being very tall and quite attenuated, and for a short distance he could outrun any of his pupils.

The plump, shapely legs of Fred Sheldon, twinkling and doubling under him as he ran, seemed to be irresistibly tempting
to Mr. McCurtis, who, with upraised switch, dashed for him like a thunder-gust, paying no attention to the others, who
ducked aside as he passed.

"It's your fault, you young scapegrace," called out the pursuer, as he rapidly overhauled him; "you haven't been thinking
of anything else but circuses for the past month and I mean to whip it out of you—good gracious sakes!"

Fred Sheldon had seen how rapidly the teacher was gaining, and finding there was no escape, resorted to the common
trick among boys of suddenly falling flat on his face while running at full speed.

The cruel-hearted teacher at that very moment made a savage stroke, intending to raise a ridge on the flesh of the lad,
who escaped it by a hair's breadth, as may be said.

The spiteful blow spent itself in vacancy, and the momentum spun Mr. McCurtis around on one foot, so that he faced
the other way. At that instant his heels struck the prostrate form of the crouching boy, and he went over, landing upon

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his back, his legs pointing upward, like a pair of huge dividers.

There is nothing a boy perceives so quickly as a chance for fun, and before the teacher could rise, Sammy McClay also
went tumbling over the grinning Fred Sheldon, with such violence, indeed, that he struck the bewildered instructor as he
was trying to adjust his spectacles to see where he was.

Then came Joe Hunt and Jimmy Emery, and Fred Sheldon capped the climax by running at full speed and jumping on
the struggling group, spreading out his arms and legs in the effort to bear them down to the earth.

But the difficulty was that Fred was not very heavy nor bony, so that his presence on top caused very little
inconvenience, the teacher rising so hurriedly that Fred fell from his shoulders, and landed on his head when he struck
the earth.

The latter was dented, but Fred wasn't hurt at all, and he and his friends scrambled hastily into the school-house, where
the other children were in an uproar, fairly dancing with delight at the exhibition, or rather "circus," as some of them
called it, which took place before the school-house and without any expense to them.

By the time the discomfited teacher had got upon his feet and shaken himself together, the four lads were in school,
busily engaged in scratching their legs and studying their lessons.

Mr. McCurtis strode in a minute later switch in hand, and in such a grim mood that he could only quiet his nerves by
walking around the room and whipping every boy in it.

CHAPTER III.

STARTLING NEWS.

Fred Sheldon was the only child of a widow, who lived on a small place a mile beyond the village, and managed to eke
out a living thereon, assisted by a small pension from the government, her husband having been killed during the late
war.

A half-mile beyond stood a large building, gray with age and surrounded with trees, flowers and climbing vines. The
broad bricks of which it was composed were known to have been brought from Holland long before the revolution, and
about the time when George Washington was hunting for the cherry-tree with his little hatchet.

In this old structure lived the sisters Perkinpine—Annie and Lizzie—who were nearly seventy years of age. They were
twins, had never been married, were generally known to be wealthy, but preferred to live entirely by themselves, with
no companion but three or four cats, and not even a watch-dog.

Their ancestors were among the earliest settlers of the section, and the Holland bricks could show where they had been
chipped and broken by the bullets of the Indians who howled around the solid old structure, through the snowy night, as
ravenous as so many wolves to reach the cowering women and children within.

The property had descended to the sisters in regular succession, and there could be no doubt they were rich in valuable
lands, if in nothing else. Their retiring disposition repelled attention from their neighbors, but it was known there was
much old and valuable silver, and most probably money itself, in the house.

Michael Heyland was their hired man, but he lived in a small house some distance away, where he always spent his
nights.

Young Fred Sheldon was once sent over to the residence of the Misses Perkinpine after a heavy snowstorm, to see
whether he could do anything for the old ladies. He was then only ten years old, but his handsome, ruddy face, his
respectful manner, and his cheerful eagerness to oblige them, thawed a great deal of their natural reserve, and they
gradually came to like him.

He visited the old brick house quite often, and frequently bore substantial presents to his mother, though, rather
curiously, the old ladies never asked that she should pay them a visit.

The Misses Perkinpine lived very well indeed, and Fred Sheldon was not long in discovering it. When he called there he
never could get away without eating some of the vast hunks of gingerbread and enormous pieces of thick, luscious pie,
of which Fred, like all boys, was very fond.

There was no denying that Fred had established himself as a favorite in that peculiar household, as he well deserved to
be.

On the afternoon succeeding his switching at school he reached home and did his chores, whistling cheerily in the
meanwhile, and thinking of little else than the great circus on the morrow, when he suddenly stopped in surprise upon
seeing a carriage standing in front of the gate.

Just then his mother called him to the house and explained:

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"Your Uncle William is quite ill, Fred, and has sent for me. You know he lives twelve miles away, and it will take us a
good while to get there; if you are afraid to stay here alone you can go with us."

Fred was too quick to trip himself in that fashion. To-morrow was circus day, and if he went to his Uncle Will's, he
might miss it.

"Miss Annie asked me this morning to go over and see them again," he said, alluding to one of the Misses Perkinpine,
"and they'll be mighty glad to have me there."

"That will be much better, for you will be so near home that you can come over in the morning and see that everything is
right, but I'm afraid you'll eat too much pie and cake and pudding and preserves."

"I ain't afraid," laughed Fred, who kissed his mother good-by and saw the carriage vanish down the road in the gloom
of the gathering darkness. Then he busied himself with the chores, locked up the house and put everything in shape
preparatory to going away.

He was still whistling, and was walking rapidly toward the gate, when he was surprised and a little startled by observing
the figure of a man, standing on the outside, as motionless as a stone, and no doubt watching him.

He appeared to be ill-dressed, and Fred at once set him down as one of those pests of society known as a tramp, who
had probably stopped to get something to eat.

"What do you want?" asked the lad, with an air of bravery which he was far from feeling, as he halted within two or
three rods of the unexpected guest, ready to retreat if it should become necessary.

"I want you to keep a civil tongue in your head," was the answer, in a harsh rasping voice.

"I didn't mean to be uncivil," was the truthful reply of Fred, who believed in courtesy to every one.

"Who lives here, then?" asked the other in the same gruff voice.

"My mother, Mrs. Mary Sheldon, and myself, but my mother isn't at home."

The stranger was silent a moment, and then looking around, as if to make sure that no one was within hearing, asked in
a lower voice:

"Can you tell me where the Miss Perkinpines live?"

"Right over yonder," was the response of the boy, pointing toward the house, which was invisible in the darkness, but a
star-like twinkle of light showed where it was, surrounded by trees and shrubbery.

Fred came near adding that he was on his way there, and would show him the road, but a sudden impulse restrained
him.

The tramp-like individual peered through the gloom in the direction indicated, and then inquired:

"How fur is it?"

"About half a mile."

The stranger waited another minute or so, as if debating with himself whether he should ask some other questions that
were in his mind; but, without another word, he moved away and speedily disappeared from the road.

Although he walked for several paces on the rough gravel in front of the gate, the lad did not hear the slightest sound.
He must have been barefooted, or more likely, wore rubber shoes.

Fred Sheldon could not help feeling very uncomfortable over the incident itself. The question about the old ladies, and
the man's looks and manner impressed him that he meant ill toward his good friends, and Fred stood a long time asking
himself what he ought to do.

He thought of going down to the village and telling Archie Jackson, the bustling little constable, what he feared, or of
appealing to some of the neighbors; and pity it is he did not do so, but he was restrained by the peculiar disposition of
the Misses Perkinpine, who might be very much displeased with him.

As he himself was about the only visitor they received, and as they had lived so long by themselves, they would not
thank him, to say the least—that is, viewing the matter from his standpoint.

"I'll tell the ladies about it," he finally concluded, "and we'll lock the doors and sit up all night. I wish they had three or
four dogs and a whole lot of guns; or if I had a lasso," he added, recalling one of the circus pictures, "and the tramp
tried to get in, I'd throw it over his head and pull him half way to the top of the house and let him hang there until he
promised to behave himself."

Fred's head had been slightly turned by the circus posters, and it can hardly be said that he was the best guard the
ladies could have in case there were any sinister designs on the part of the tramp.

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But the boy was sure he was never more needed at the old brick house than he was on that night, and hushing his
whistle, he started up the road in the direction taken by the stranger.

It was a trying ordeal for the little fellow, whose chief fear was that he would overtake the repulsive individual and suffer
for interfering with his plans.

There was a faint moon in the sky, but its light now and then was obscured by the clouds which floated over its face.
Here and there, too, were trees, beneath whose shadows the boy stepped lightly, listening and looking about him, and
imagining more than once he saw the figure dreaded so much.

But he observed nothing of him, nor did he meet any of his neighbors, either in wagons or on foot, and his heart beat
tumultuously when he drew near the grove of trees, some distance back from the road, in the midst of which stood the
old Holland brick mansion.

To reach it it was necessary to walk through a short lane, lined on either hand by a row of stately poplars, whose shade
gave a cool twilight gloom to the intervening space at mid-day.

"Maybe he isn't here, after all," said Fred to himself, as he passed through the gate of the picket fence surrounding the
house, "and I guess——"

Just then the slightest possible rustling caught his ear, and he stepped back behind the trunk of a large weeping willow.

He was not mistaken; some one was moving through the shrubbery at the corner of the house, and the next minute the
frightened boy saw the tramp come stealthily to view, and stepping close to the window of the dining-room, peer into it.

As the curtain was down it was hard to see how he could discover anything of the inmates, but he may have been able
to detect something of the interior by looking through at the side of the curtain, or possibly he was only listening.

At any rate he stood thus but a short time, when he withdrew and slowly passed from view around the corner.

The instant he was gone Fred moved forward and knocked softly on the door, so softly indeed, that he had to repeat it
before some one approached from the inside and asked who was there.

When his voice was recognized the bolt was withdrawn and he was most cordially welcomed by the old ladies, who
were just about to take up their knitting and sewing, having finished their tea.

When Fred told them he had come to stay all night and hadn't had any supper, they were more pleased than ever, and
insisted that he should go out and finish a large amount of gingerbread, custard and pie, for the latter delicacy was
always at command.

"I'll eat some," replied Fred, "but I don't feel very hungry."

"Why, what's the matter?" asked Miss Annie, peering over her spectacles in alarm; "are you sick? If you are we've got
lots of castor oil and rhubarb and jalap and boneset; shall I mix you up some?"

"O my gracious! no—don't mention 'em again; I ain't sick that way—I mean I'm scared."

"Scared at what? Afraid there isn't enough supper for you?" asked Miss Lizzie, looking smilingly down upon the
handsome boy.

"I tell you," said Fred, glancing from one to the other, "I think there's a robber going to try and break into your house
to-night and steal everything you've got, and then he'll kill you both, and after that I'm sure he means to burn down the
house, and that'll be the last all of you and your cats."

When the young visitor made such a prodigious declaration, he supposed the ladies would scream and probably faint
away. But the very hugeness of the boy's warning caused emotions the reverse of what he anticipated.

They looked kindly at him a minute or so and then quietly smiled.

"What a little coward you are, Fred," said Miss Annie; "surely there is nobody who would harm two old creatures like
us."

"But they want your money," persisted Fred, still standing in the middle of the floor.

Both ladies were too truthful to deny that they had any, even to such a child, and Lizzie said:

"We haven't enough to tempt anybody to do such a great wrong."

"You can't tell about that, then I 'spose some of those silver dishes must be worth a great deal."

"Yes, so they are," said Annie, "and we prize them the most because our great, great, great-grandfather brought them
over the sea a good many years ago, and they have always been in our family."

"But," interposed Lizzie, "we lock them up every night."

"What in?"

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"A great big strong chest."

"Anybody could break it open, though."

"Yes, but it's locked; and you know it's against the law to break a lock."

"Well," said Fred, with a great sigh, "I hope there won't anybody disturb you, but I hope you will fasten all the windows
and doors to-night."

"We always do; and then," added the benign old lady, raising her head so as to look under her spectacles in the face of
the lad, "you know we have you to take care of us."

"Have you got a gun in the house?"

"Mercy, yes; there's one over the fire-place, where father put it forty years ago."

"Is there anything the matter with it?"

"Nothing, only the lock is broke off, and I think father said the barrel was bursted."

Fred laughed in spite of himself.

"What under the sun is such an old thing good for?"

"It has done us just as much good as if it were a new cannon—but come out to your supper."

The cheerful manner of the old ladies had done much to relieve Fred's mind of his fears, and a great deal of his natural
appetite came back to him.

He walked into the kitchen, where he seated himself at a table on which was spread enough food for several grown
persons, and telling him he must not leave any of it to be wasted, the ladies withdrew, closing the door behind them, so
that he might not be embarrassed by their presence.

"I wonder whether there's any use of being scared," said Fred to himself, as he first sunk his big, sound teeth into a huge
slice of buttered short-cake, on which some peach jam had been spread! "If I hadn't seen that tramp looking in at the
window I wouldn't feel so bad, and I declare," he added in dismay, "when they questioned me, I never thought to tell
'em that. Never mind, I'll give 'em the whole story when I finish five or six slices of this short-cake and some ginger-
cake, and three or four pieces of pie, and then, I think, they'll believe I'm right."

For several minutes the boy devoted himself entirely to his meal, and had the good ladies peeped through the door while
he was thus employed they would have been highly pleased to see how well he was getting along.

"I wish I was an old maid and hadn't anything to do but to cook nice food like this and play with the cats—my
gracious!"

Just then the door creaked, and, looking up, Fred Sheldon saw to his consternation the very tramp of whom he had
been thinking walk into the room and approach the table.

His clothing was ragged and unclean, a cord being drawn around his waist to keep his coat together, while the collar
was up so high about his neck that nothing of the shirt was visible.

His hair was frowsy and uncombed, as were his huge yellow whiskers, which seemed to grow up almost to his eyes,
and stuck out like the quills on a porcupine.

As the intruder looked at the boy and shuffled toward him, in his soft rubber shoes, he indulged in a broad grin, which
caused his teeth to shine through his scraggly beard.

He held his hat, which resembled a dishcloth, as much as anything, in his hand, and was all suavity.

His voice sounded as though he had a bad cold, with now and then an odd squeak. As he bowed he said:

"Good evening, young man; I hope I don't intrude."

As he approached the table and helped himself to a chair, the ladies came along behind him, Miss Lizzie saying:

"This poor man, Frederick, has had nothing to eat for three days, and is trying to get home to his family. I'm sure you
will be glad to have him sit at the table with you."

"Yes, I'm awful glad," replied the boy, almost choking with the fib. "I was beginning to feel kind of lonely, but I'm
through and he can have the table to himself."

"You said you were a shipwrecked sailor, I believe?" was the inquiring remark of Miss Lizzie, as the two sisters stood
in the door, beaming kindly on the tramp, who began to play havoc with the eatables before him.

"Yes, mum; we was shipwrecked on the Jarsey coast; I was second mate and all was drowned but me. I hung to the
rigging for three days and nights in the awfullest snow storm you ever heard of."

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"Mercy goodness," gasped Annie; "when was that?"

"Last week," was the response, as the tramp wrenched the leg of a chicken apart with hands and teeth.

"Do they have snow storms down there in summer time?" asked Fred, as he moved away from the table.

The tramp, with his mouth full of meat, and with his two hands grasping the chicken-bone between his teeth, stopped
work and glared at the impudent youngster, as if he would look him through and through for daring to ask the question.

"Young man," said he, as he solemnly resumed operations, "of course, they have snow storms down there in summer
time; I'm ashamed of your ignorance; you're rather small to put in when grown-up folks are talking, and I'd advise you
to listen arter this."

Fred concluded he would do so, using his eyes meanwhile.

"Yes, mum," continued the tramp; "I was in the rigging for three days and nights, and then was washed off by the
breakers and carried ashore, where I was robbed of all my clothing, money and jewels."

"Deary, deary me!" exclaimed the sisters in concert. "How dreadful."

"You are right, ladies, and I've been tramping ever since."

"How far away is your home?"

"Only a hundred miles, or so."

"You have a family, have you?"

"A wife and four babies—if they only knowed what their poor father had passed through—excuse these tears, mum."

The tramp just then gave a sniff and drew his sleeve across his forehead, but Fred Sheldon, who was watching him
closely, did not detect anything like a tear.

But he noted something else, which had escaped the eyes of the kind-hearted ladies.

The movement of the arm before the face seemed to displace the luxuriant yellow beard. Instead of sitting on the
countenance as it did at first, even in its ugliness, it was slewed to one side.

Only for a moment, however, for by a quick flirt of the hand, as though he were scratching his chin, he replaced it.

And just then Fred Sheldon noticed another fact. The hand with which this was done was as small, white and fair as that
of a woman—altogether the opposite of that which would have been seen had the tramp's calling been what he claimed.

The ladies, after a few more thoughtful questions, withdrew, so that their guest might not feel any delicacy in eating all he
wished—an altogether unnecessary step on their part.

Fred went out with them, but after he had been gone a few minutes he slyly peeped through the crack of the door,
without the ladies observing the impolite proceeding.

The guest was still doing his best in the way of satisfying his appetite, but he was looking around the room, at the ceiling,
the floor, the doors, windows and fire-place, and indeed at everything, as though he was greatly interested in them, as
was doubtless the case.

All at once he stopped and listened, glancing furtively at the door, as if he feared some one was about to enter the
room.

Then he quietly rose, stepped quickly and noiselessly to one of the windows, took out the large nail which was always
inserted over the sash at night to keep it fastened, put it in his pocket, and, with a half chuckle and grin, seated himself
again at the table.

At the rate of eating which was displayed, he soon finished, and, wiping his greasy hands on his hair, he gave a great
sigh of relief, picked up his slouchy hat, and moved toward the door leading to the room in which the ladies sat.

"I'm very much obleeged to you," said he, bowing very low, as he shuffled toward the outer door, "and I shall ever
remember you in my prayers; sorry I can't pay you better, mums."

The sisters protested they were more than repaid in the gratitude he showed, and they begged him, if he ever came that
way, to call again.

He promised that he would be glad to do so, and departed.

"You may laugh all you're a mind to," said Fred, when he had gone, "but that's the man I saw peeping in the window,
and he means to come back here to-night and rob you."

The boy told all that he knew, and the ladies, while not sharing his fright, agreed that it was best to take extra
precautions in locking up.

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CHAPTER IV.

ON GUARD.

The sisters Perkinpine always retired early, and, candle in hand, they made the round of the windows and doors on the
first floor.

When they came to the window from which the nail had been removed, Fred told them he had seen the tramp take it
out, and he was sure he would try and enter there.

This served to add to the uneasiness of the sisters, but they had great confidence in the security of the house, which had
never been disturbed by burglars, so far as they knew, in all its long history.

"The chest where we keep the silver and what little money we have," said Lizzie, "is up-stairs, next to the spare bed-
room."

"Leave the door open and let me sleep there," said Fred, stoutly.

"Gracious alive, what can you do if they should come?" was the amazed inquiry.

"I don't know as I can do anything, but I can try; I want that old musket that's over the fire-place, too."

"Why, it will go off and kill you."

Fred insisted so strongly, however, that he was allowed to climb upon a chair and take down the antiquated weapon,
covered with rust and dust.

When he came to examine it he found that the description he had heard was correct—the ancient flintlock was good for
nothing, and the barrel, when last discharged, must have exploded at the breach, for it was twisted and split open, so
that a load of powder could only injure the one who might fire it, were such a feat possible.

The sisters showed as much fear of it when it was taken down as though it were in good order, primed and cocked,
and they begged the lad to restore it to its place as quickly as possible.

But he seemed to think he had charge of the business for the evening, and, bidding them good-night, he took his candle
and went to his room, which he had occupied once or twice before.

It may well be asked what young Fred Sheldon expected to do with such a useless musket, should emergency arise
demanding a weapon.

Indeed, the boy would have found it hard to tell himself, excepting that he hoped to scare the man or men away by the
pretence of a power which he did not possess.

Now that the young hero was finally left alone, he felt that he had a most serious duty to perform.

The spare bedroom which was placed at his disposal was a large, old-fashioned apartment, with two windows front
and rear, with a door opening into the next room, somewhat smaller in size, both being carpeted, while the smaller
contained nothing but a few chairs and a large chest, in which were silver and money worth several thousand dollars.

"I'll set the candle in there on the chest," concluded Fred, "and I'll stay in here with the gun. If he comes up-stairs and
gets into the room I'll try and make him believe I've got a loaded rifle to shoot him with."

The door opening outward from each apartment had nothing but the old-style iron latch, large and strong, and fastened
in place by turning down a small iron tongue.

It would take much effort to force such a door, but Fred had no doubt any burglar could do it, even though it were ten
times as strong. He piled chairs against both, and then made an examination of the windows.

To his consternation, the covered porch extending along the front of the house, passed beneath every window, and was
so low that it would be a very easy thing to step from the hypostyle to the entrance.

The room occupied by the ladies was in another part of the building, and much more inaccessible.

Young as Fred Sheldon was, he could not help wondering how it was that where everything was so inviting to burglars
they had not visited these credulous and trusting sisters before.

"If that tramp, that I don't believe is a tramp, tries to get into the house he'll do it by one of the windows, for that one is
fastened down stairs, and all he has to do is to climb up the portico and crawl in here."

The night was so warm that Fred thought he would smother when he had fastened all the windows down, and he finally
compromised by raising one of those at the back of the house, where he was sure there was the least danger of any one
entering.

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This being done, he sat down in a chair, with the rusty musket in his hand, and began his watch.

From his position he could see the broad, flat candlestick standing on the chest, with the dip already burned so low that
it was doubtful whether it could last an hour longer.

"What's the use of that burning, anyway?" he asked himself; "that fellow isn't afraid to come in, and the candle will only
serve to show him the way."

Acting under the impulse, he walked softly through the door to where the yellow light was burning, and with one puff
extinguished it.

The wick glowed several minutes longer, sending out a strong odor, which pervaded both rooms. Fred watched it until
all became darkness, and then he was not sure he had done a wise thing after all.

The trees on both sides of the house were so dense that their leaves shut out nearly all the moonlight which otherwise
would have entered the room. Only a few rays came through the window of the other apartment, and these, striking the
large, square chest showed its dim outlines, with the phantom-like candlestick on top.

Where Fred himself sat it was dark and gloomy, and his situation, we are sure all will admit, was enough to try the
nerves of the strongest man, even if furnished with a good weapon of offence and defence.

"I hope the ladies will sleep," was the unselfish thought of the little hero, "for there isn't any use of their being disturbed
when they can't do anything but scream, and a robber don't care for that."

One of the hardest things is to keep awake when exhausted by some unusual effort of the bodily or mental powers, and
we all know under how many conditions it is utterly impossible.

The sentinel on the outpost or the watch on deck fights off his drowsiness by steadily pacing back and forth. If he sits
down for a few minutes he is sure to succumb.

When Fremont, the pathfinder, was lost with his command in the Rocky Mountains, and was subjected to such arctic
rigors in the dead of winter as befell the crew of the Jeannette in the ice-resounding oceans of the far north the
professor, who accompanied the expedition for the purpose of making scientific investigations, warned all that their
greatest peril lay in yielding to the drowsiness which the extreme cold would be sure to bring upon them. He begged
them to resist it with all the energy of their natures, for in no other way could they escape with their lives.

And yet this same professor was the first one of the party to give up and to lie down for his last long sleep, from which it
was all Fremont could do to arouse him.

Fred Sheldon felt that everything depended on him, and with the exaggerated fears that come to a youngster at such a
time he was sure that if he fell asleep the evil man would enter the room, take all the money and plate and then sacrifice
him.

"I could keep awake a week," he muttered, as he tipped his chair back against the wall, so as to rest easier, while he
leaned the musket along side of him, in such position that it could be seized at a moment's warning.

The night remained solemn and still. Far in the distance he could hear the flow of the river, and from the forest, less than
a mile away, seemed to come a murmur, like the "voice of silence" itself.

Now and then the crowing of a cock was answered by another a long distance off, and occasionally the soft night wind
stirred the vegetation surrounding the house.

But among them all was no sound which the excited imagination could torture into such as would be made by a stealthy
entrance into the house.

In short, everything was of the nature to induce sleep, and it was not yet ten o'clock when Fred began to wink, very
slowly and solemnly, his grasp on the ruined weapon relaxed, his head bobbed forward several times and at last he was
asleep.

As his mind had been so intensely occupied by thoughts of burglars and their evil doings, his dreams were naturally of
the same unpleasant personages.

In his fancy he was sitting on the treasure-chest, unable to move, while an ogre-like creature climbed into the window,
slowly raised an immense club and then brought it down on the head of the boy with a terrific crash.

With an exclamation of terror Fred awoke, and found that he had fallen forward on his face, sprawling on the floor at
full length, while the jar tipped the musket over so that it fell across him.

In his dream it had seemed that the burglar was a full hour climbing upon the roof and through the window, and yet the
whole vision began and ended during the second or two occupied in falling from his chair.

In the confusion of the moment Fred was sure the man he dreaded was in the room, but when he had got back into the
chair he was gratified beyond measure to find his mistake.

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"I'm a pretty fellow to keep watch," he muttered, rubbing his eyes; "I don't suppose that I was awake more than a half
hour. It must be past midnight, so I've had enough sleep to last me without any more of it before to-morrow night."

He resumed his seat, never more wide awake in all his life. It was not as late as he supposed, but the hour had come
when it was all-important that he should keep his senses about him.

Hearing nothing unusual he rose to his feet and walked to the rear window and looked out. It was somewhat cooler and
a gentle breeze felt very pleasant on his fevered face. The same stillness held reign, and he moved to the front, where he
took a similar view.

So far as could be told, everything was right and he resumed his seat.

But at this juncture Fred was startled by a sound, the meaning of which he well knew.

Some one was trying hard to raise the dining-room window—the rattling being such that there was no mistake about it.

"It's that tramp!" exclaimed the boy, all excitement, stepping softly into the next room and listening at the head of the
stairs, "and he's trying the window that he took the nail out of."

The noise continued several minutes—long after the time, indeed, when the tramp must have learned that his trick had
been discovered—and then all became still.

This window was the front, and Fred, in the hope of scaring the fellow away, raised the sash, and, leaning out, peered
into the darkness and called out:

"Halloo, down there! What do you want?"

As may be supposed, there was no answer, and after waiting a minute or two, Fred concluded to give a warning.

"If I hear anything more of you, I'll try and shoot; I've got a gun here and we're ready for you!"

This threat ought to have frightened an ordinary person away, and the boy was not without a strong hope that it had
served that purpose with the tramp whom he dreaded so much.

He thought he could discern his dark figure among the trees, but it was probably fancy, for the gloom was too great for
his eyes to be of any use in that respect.

Fred listened a considerable while longer, and then, drawing his head within, said:

"I shouldn't wonder if I had scared him off——"

Just then a soft step roused him, and turning his head, he saw that the very tramp of whom he was thinking and of whom
he believed he was happily rid, had entered the room, and was standing within a few feet of him.

CHAPTER V.
BRAVE WORK.

When Fred Sheldon turned on his heel and saw the outlines of the tramp in the room behind him he gave a start and
exclamation of fear, as the bravest man might have done under the circumstances.

The intruder chuckled and said in his rasping, creaking voice:

"Don't be skeert, young man; if you keep quiet you won't get hurt, but if you go to yelping or making any sort of noise
I'll wring your head as if you was a chicken I wanted for dinner."

Fred made no answer to this, when the tramp added, in the same husky undertone, as he stepped forward in a
threatening way:

"Do you hear what I said?"

"Yes, sir; I hear you."

"Well, just step back through that door in t'other room and watch me while I look through this chest for a gold ring I lost
last week."

Poor Fred was in a terrible state of mind, and, passing softly through the door opening into his bed-room, he paused by
the chair where he had sat so long, and then faced toward the tramp, who said, by way of amendment:

"I forgot to say that if you try to climb out of the winder onto the porto rico or to sneak out any way I'll give you a touch
of that."

As he spoke he suddenly held up a bull's-eye lantern, which poured a strong stream of light toward the boy. It...